Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Christina
When the movies end and the cameras are packed—when I’m certain this day is the height of happiness—I kiss Danny’s throat. “Will you walk with me before you go?”
He nuzzles my hair. “Chocolate gravy weighing you down?”
The from-scratch biscuits and chocolate gravy Danny whipped up during the break between movies won the group’s undying devotion.
I laugh. “Something like that.”
I mostly just want Danny to myself for a little bit before another week apart.
We walk the sidewalks of my neighborhood slowly, fingers laced, savoring the cool spring air in the setting sun.
Danny absently sweeps his thumb back and forth over mine. “I was double-checking our shooting schedule, and we don’t have anything on the books for this coming weekend.”
“I purposefully left it blank because next week is spring break.”
“Right, Reese mentioned.”
We had to practically drag Reese and Danny apart once they got talking about redlining in the South; apparently Ally made Reese promise not to fanboy with Danny until one movie was down, and even then I could tell the two of them could have gone on and on for hours.
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Danny so animated.
I’m pretty sure I saw him and Reese exchange phone numbers—and possibly a bibliography.
“He and Ally are going to D.C. to tour her new university, yeah?” Danny asks.
I nod. “And K and Runzhou are going to New York to search for apartments.”
“That’s amazing. Are you going to D.C. or New York?”
I laugh humorlessly. He has no idea that his question applies to so much more than just spring break. He has no idea that his question has hounded me for weeks.
“I don’t know.”
We slow when he raises our joined hands and uses the knuckles of our laced fingers to turn my chin to him, concern simmering in those big eyes.
Drowning in them, I find I want to tell him everything, even the parts that aren’t clear to me yet.
Because he’s Danny. Because he sees clean through me, all of the time.
I can be happy and uncertain and lustful and scared and elated all at once.
He makes room for all of my messy self, and he doesn’t shy away from any of it.
The words come easily. “Both couples have asked me to go on their spring break trips because both couples have asked me to move with them after graduation.”
His jaw tightens, just barely, before he kisses the back of my hand with our fingers still laced.
“What are you leaning toward?” he asks as we resume our pace.
“Honestly?”
A soft smile. “Always.”
“I’m not leaning toward either. Or maybe I’m leaning toward both. I’m not sure it matters.” I look back up at him. “I don’t belong anywhere.”
Something sickly slides in my stomach when I say those words aloud.
Only a few weeks ago, not belonging anywhere is exactly what I wanted.
Not belonging meant no expectations, no performances.
I could be whoever I wanted and do whatever I wanted at any time.
I didn’t have to build toward anything just to see it all crash and burn.
But something’s changing. I created the Jezebel List to give my life some kind of structure and forward momentum without getting trapped on another one-lane path.
But TJL as a documentary has become more than that.
Danny and I are building toward something.
We’ll have a product at the end of this that will exist beyond any one moment in time.
It will turn this collection of experiences into a narrative that can be shared widely, for as long as it needs to be shared.
It will tie my life to the life of others.
It will give me a brief place in this world.
And I like that sense of belonging. I like that sense of responsibility, of future plans.
I like it enough to be scared shitless.
Because belonging implies that I could suddenly not belong. Belonging means I have something to lose.
Danny stops and gently tugs me down to sit by him on the sidewalk curb. “What do you mean you don’t belong anywhere, sweetheart?”
I can’t help but smile softly and tuck his hair behind his ear. “Sweetheart” is new. And perhaps likewise indicative of why I’m craving a sense of belonging more and more every day.
It’s not just the documentary. It’s the documentarian.
My maestro.
The more time I spend with him—reading the same books, sharing our days, laughing with his brother, exploring his house, having sex, learning his quirks—the more my rootless existence feels less like freedom and more like displacement.
He’s even transformed Movie Church from a sip of good wine into a full glass.
The usual warmth of the day exploded into color with his arms around me on the chaise, with how easily he joked with my friends, with the private looks we shared to comment on what was happening without saying a word.
He makes me want to belong again.
But Jesus, that’s going to take a lot of trust in myself to know what’s right. That’s going to take not feeling trapped by paths and roles. That’s going to take honing my inner voice enough to get on and off paths as needed.
And if I can somehow manage all that, what if I build a new life only to lose it? I’m not sure I would survive that a second time.
Danny is still patiently holding my eyes as I sort through my thoughts, my fingers lingering in the soft strands of his hair. The warm weight of his hand on my knee steadies me.
“I don’t have a reason to go to either of those cities,” I finally say. “When my life blew up, therapy was the priority. Just rooting out all the self-hate. But since EMDR, I haven’t considered any long-term plans past TJL.”
“Because you don’t want to be defined or limited?”
I swipe a thumb across his eyebrow to thank him for thinking my words from his porch and his bed worth memorizing.
“Yes. And also, I haven’t had to make very many choices until recently.
Even hearing why my friends came to Hilltop impresses how much I didn’t choose to come here.
But oddly, I wasn’t forced to come here, either.
I was in a situation where it just seemed obvious.
A foregone conclusion. And all my life was like that—just following commandments as a given, even though they were horribly wrong.
So I don’t want to get stuck in toxicity again while my inner voice is still recovering.
But creating this documentary with you makes me think I’ll want to choose a future, a place in the world and something to contribute. Someday. Eventually, maybe.”
“I think creating this documentary with you is doing the opposite for me.”
I twist my fingers in the hem of his shirt. “Oh?”
“I think I’ve been so concerned with my place in the world—thinking UNsweet Tea was all I am and all I have to offer—that I forgot to be present. I forgot to be myself, and I definitely didn’t care about happiness. I’m thinking less about some path or future and more about the right now than ever.”
I’ve suspected that Danny had little fun in his life, but I never thought TJL itself is what would open him up. All these silly items that anyone else would take for granted.
He searches my face with eyes of soft embers. “You make the ordinary seem so magical.”
Is this what it means to turn one’s trauma into a gift? How much magic can I bring to his life? How much joy?
A tear falls down my cheek and Danny catches it with his thumb, just as he’s done once before, like this is his job now.
“What if that’s what we do for spring break, then?” I ask, the sweetness of the moment pointing me toward what feels right.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we can do a kind of staycation at your house. We’ll become tourists in your home city. Enjoy everything Chattanooga has to offer. Enjoy everything your house has to offer.”
“Make the ordinary magical,” he mutters, staring at me like I’m an apparition.
“Exactly. The only condition is that neither of us is allowed to do any work for the entire week. Only fun. Only being present.”
“Only together,” he adds.
My heart swells unbearably. “Yes, only together.”
He finally unfurls that slow, lopsided grin. “That sounds like the best spring break a man who never went to college could ever ask for.”
I kiss his nose. “You’re not the only one who can propose grand gestures on the curb.”
“That makes us sound like prostitutes.”
I snort. “I’m fine with that.”
Danny insists that I unpack my suitcase for the week.
He’s made room for me in his closet, in his drawers, by his toothbrush.
He helps me settle my belongings among his own with his quiet smile, like nothing pleases him more.
The smell of the pot roast Danny has in the crockpot for our dinner permeates every room of the house, and I already feel like this is the best spring break I could have chosen.
“I have a surprise for you,” Danny blurts, leaning against the doorframe of his bathroom as I tuck my hair dryer under the sink.
“I like surprises.”
His brow furrows like he’s disappointed in himself. “I do fear you won’t be interested in anything else, including dinner, if I show you now.”
I slip my arms around his waist, and his hands automatically span up my back to tangle in the long strands of my hair. “You’re not making me want the surprise any less.”
“You think you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”
I flutter my lashes at him and pull him tighter to me, teasing my breasts against him. “Don’t I?”
He bites the inside of his cheek, his breathing a bit labored. “Well, I don’t call you Muse for nothing.”
“Do you want me to beg?” I draw his bottom lip between my teeth and tug. “You know how good I beg.”
He groans softly into my mouth. “I can’t believe I get you for a whole week.”
“The Maestro and his Muse take on spring break?”
He brushes his lips across mine. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ve got all kinds of things planned for this week.”
He packs so much sensuality into that hushed proclamation that I shiver as his lips wander down my neck. “Do any of the things you have planned not involve my body?”
He chuckles huskily into my skin. “Maybe one or two.”
“What if I promise I’ll still eat dinner? Will you show me the surprise now?”
He takes a steadying breath and pulls back to examine me suspiciously. I raise my right hand in a scout’s honor gesture, and he laughs. “I’m gonna hold you to that promise.”
He laces his fingers in mine to lead me out of the bedroom and across the second-floor hallway. We stop in front of the closed guest room door.
I raise my eyebrows at him in question. He smiles, a bit nervously, and swings the door open.
I gasp.
Books. Books everywhere.
The room is utterly transformed. The high bookcases flanking the bay window are still in place, but he’s removed the bed and the desk to instead fill every wall with book-laden shelves of varying heights.
Mismatched lamps on the shorter bookcases cast a warm glow over the space, and a luxurious chaise lounge emerges from one corner.
The entirety of the floor is covered by enormous bean bag chairs, pillows, blankets, and low side tables in all colors and materials.
“I couldn’t bear for you to be separated from your Cozy Corner for a week,” he says from behind me. I’ve wandered into the center of the room, cutting a path through the plush, without realizing it.
I turn to him. “You made me a Cozy Room?”
He just stares at me the way only he can, dissolving me. “You like it?”
I scoff in disbelief. “Like it?” I spin around, reveling in the explosion of color and warmth. “It’s spectacular.”
He doesn’t smile, but he does get this look that I haven’t seen yet. Is that … satisfaction? A deep satisfaction.
“This is so many more books than you had before,” I say, running my eyes over the many shelves, although plenty are empty, as if he’s creating space for expansion. “Where did they all come from?”
He averts his gaze sheepishly and I might be dying.
“I went on a bit of a buying spree this week. Runzhou shared your wish list—your very long wish list—with me, but then I also got recommendations from each of your friends and suggestions based on the ratings in your online reading profile. And of course, a lot of the books are just gaps I noticed on your shelves …”
He trails off, eyes flaring when I suddenly charge toward him, leaping into his arms and trusting him to catch me. I lock my arms around his neck and legs around his waist and kiss him deeply. He’s shocked for a moment, but then he kisses me back with equal fervor.
I try to pour my gratitude into the kiss.
I try to communicate that this is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me.
Because words would never be enough to express what this Cozy Room means to me.
Words would never be enough to express how much I like this Cozy Room to be in Danny’s house, surrounded by and saturated with his care.
A loud series of beeps from downstairs stops the kiss from reaching a point of no return.
“Dinner’s ready,” Danny breathes, our foreheads resting against one another.
I unlock my legs and slide down his body. He keeps his hands on my waist to steady me. “We can eat in here, right?” I ask.
“We can eat wherever you want, baby.”
“Oh good. I won’t have to break my promise, then.”
His grin blasts across his face. “Settle in and I’ll bring you a plate.”
Yeah, my inner voice was right on target with this one. It’s going to be a really, really good week.